mourning run / ky+various

[gamemaker kelsier]

k y .

"Never got the chance
To say a last goodbye
I gotta move on
But it hurts to try"

He'd been home for four days and it already felt as if One was closing in on him. Ky was already back in his regular routine, wake up at five and go for a run, get home by six, eat, train, garden, go to bed. It was as if nothing had changed at all, except everything had.

His chest still hurt a little from when he was beaten up, the ache in his fingers would probably never fully leave. He found that his thoughts were drifting far too easily. Conversations were odd, it was harder to focus and sometimes he forgot he was in the middle of a sentence when-

And it was lonelier without Beck crashing through his door with the promise of a distraction.

It was hard to tell how the district felt about him, he wondered if they'd all seen the news, if they'd splashed propaganda about him and Emmett into District One's feed as well. It was hard to gauge, he'd never felt like One loved him much in the first place. Ky was more worried about how it'd reflect on his mom anyway. She'd already lost a finger and the last thing she needed was more shit to deal with.

And he still hadn't brought it all up with her. It wasn't that he was afraid to or anything, he just didn't know how to tell her that his heart was still so broken. It'd been almost three weeks since Emmett had died and a part of him still didn't believe it. He still dreamed about waking up and it all having been a dream.

Sometimes he dreamed about waking up to Emmett beside him.

Ky knew that was weird, that he'd barely known him, but he'd wanted to. He'd never wanted to know anyone so badly before and maybe it was all just a crush but in reverse. It'd always be unrequited, he'd never really know if Emmett liked him in the same way.

It was selfish but that almost hurt the most.

So he ran from it, from all of it. Every morning right down the same trail he'd been running for the last six or so years like clockwork. His feet hit dirt and it was a strange sort of therapy.

Yes, it all hurt but running was good, safe.

[Deleted]

t a t t o n .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

Duke asked to see the body. That's all he really is now, another body in the grave. Le Roux in a ditch -- take one down, puff puff pass and they move onto the next, no funeral, no service, no whispers. They just move on and see who dies next, no matter the fact that Aurora's been hotboxing her own skull at this point and Cathy can't sleep without her fucking night light god damn it, Cathy. 

It's just more and more with his twin, every passing day it's some new shit from little old Cathy. Little favorite Cathy -- now that Emmett is dead, at least. 

Somebody's gotta pick up the mantle. 

The mantle being a cold steel dagger that somebody stole from the career academy lockers. And somebody being... you know... Tatton. Light in his hands, like most throwing knives are, and he can hide it in his suspender liner without any suspicion. Like it's meant to be there, built to be apart of Tatton. He wonders if it's how natural Emmett felt in the ditch, knife in hand and street rat across from him with a dead body in the middle. 

Between Ky and Tat, one's the prodigal son and the other is anything but. They'll figure out which is which soon enough, right? That's how this works out? Two kids go at it with knives and one walks away with it all, and then their cousin gets all the pressure that comes with the family name. Knife in hand and "did he look all, y'know, different?"

"Yeah, dumbass. He's dead." 

"No shit, I mean like, did the capitol fuck with anything??"

Tatton hadn't felt the same recently. Not well enough to put up with it any; not Duke, not his mother, not school. He just wanted to crawl into a hole and hate Lysander Mae and Kenji and Ky Earnest because it's easier than not doing anything. It's easier to blame away the grief rather than face it, "I don't fucking know, I barely remember what he looked like." Emmett's just another brother. 

That's all they are. 

Sons-- Tatton hated being called that. Brothers and sons and he wanted it to just fucking end, maybe that's why he's stabbing the shit out of Ky. Sober brain makes less mistakes, right? So this must be right. Tatton hasn't felt this sure of something and it's sobering. Duke shakes hands with the rest of the gang and Tatton heads out early. 

It ain't like Tat to leave the circle early. 

Something must be off with him, yeah? 

Between the hate and the greed and the misery that this whole glory chasing has brought, Tatton's learned a half smoked blunt isn't worth shit if you hate the company. Everybody's irritating recently, every word digging under his pores in the same way he digs his sneakers into the ground to keep an eye on Ky Earnest. Talk of the town, everybody's favorite little athlete, son of Opal Earnest the same way Emmett was Ridley's cousin. Blood is blood and everything's televised. 

A secret kiss, everybody's favorite distraction -- goddamn Ky fucking Earnest. 

Tatton clutches the dagger in his band, drawing it out as Ky continues jogging in his direction. Stomping on the ground just hard enough to echo into Tatton's increasing pulse. That thump, thump, I have to, convincing himself. The way they kick up dirt, people dig into Tatton one word at a time -- every sentence loaded with their own daggers and he can't take it anymore. This is what everybody wants, the fucking drama. Le Rouxes die on screen, cry on screen, this is what they do. 

This is what I do, what sets Tat and Cat apart. Guts.

Aim for the guts. 

Tatton lurches for Ky's stomach as he jumps from behind the bush, blood and guts and that perpetual heart beat in his throat. 

Blood stains the grey of his sweater sleeve- almost in Emmett's place. 

Is it enough, ma? Is this good enough? 

elegant

[gamemaker kelsier]

k y .

"Never got the chance
To say a last goodbye
I gotta move on
But it hurts to try"

When he shut his eyes, he could hear the wind rustling the leaves of the redwoods. The sound of his feet hitting the the dirt path beneath him, thump, thump, thump, in a steady rhythm. A bird called far off in the distance, another one answered, the morning melted.

thump, thump, thump, approaching footsteps, Ky opened his eyes just in time to see a kid coming towards him. He looked familiar somehow, like someone he once knew. He went to smile in greeting as they started to pass each other, eyes falling on glinting silver too late.

There was a blade in him.

His hand gripped the kid's shoulder, shock keeping him held there. At first, he'd tried to grab him, to push him away, but then it was too late, the knife was in him anyway.

Ky breathed out slowly and let his eyes fall on the hilt sticking out of his gut. It wasn't anything special, just a short blade branded with the career academy's crest. He looked back up at the kid's face. He looked so young.

It took a moment for the pain to hit, a slow bleed into his conscious. His face twisted with pain as his body came to terms with it. He blinked. There was something blooming on his shirt from the base of the knife. It was dark, warm, his. It was blood, his blood.

He wanted to ask why.

Ky opened his mouth but nothing came out. In the end, why didn't really matter. There were probably a hundred reasons why. His legs were giving out on him anyway, body shaking and numb and always so fragile.

He wrapped a hand around the hilt and tugged slightly, a hiss of pain falling easy from his lips. His grip tightened on the kids shoulder and he almost laughed. It seemed that no matter where he went, someone wanted him dead. "You know," he murmured, "Think we'll leave that in."

Knees hit dirt.

There was blood on his hands but he didn't know when it'd gotten there. He'd let go of the kid's shoulder at some point and he didn't know when. Time was skipping forward slowly in small pieces.

He wasn't afraid at all.

Ky looked up at the kid, a strange serenity to him, "Hey," he said gently, "You alright?" That wasn't the right thing to say, his brow furrowed a little in confusion. He was supposed to be mad right? The kid had just run up and stabbed him. Ky had probably done something to deserve it, he had to have.

The knife in him was odd not because it wasn't supposed to be there but because it kind of felt right. He was so tired. He'd tried to hide the exhaustion from Beck, his mom, everyone, but it wasn't really working. Every day felt the same.

It wasn't just because of Emmett.

It was the same way he'd been feeling since he was a kid, everyone said that would go away but it hadn't.

So maybe this was good.

silver burned a line through him and he gasped softly, hand clutching at the edge of the kid's shirt.

"It's alright."

[Deleted]

t a t t o n .

"you are weak
but not foolish
you have learned
how to die."

Once it's all said and done, Tatton feels the pulse move from his chest to his head. Sickening adrenaline, Ky Earnest stumbles and Tat lets go of the knife. No turning or twisting, only the one stab -- that's good, right? As Ky clutches the shoulders of Tatton's sweater, he feels stupid for just staring. This is supposed to be exciting, this is supposed to feel like- something! Fucking something god please, don't let this be the wrong thing. 

Tatton pushes it deeper before they make eye contact. 

"You know,"

"no-"

"I think we'll keep that in."

Ky says, as he kneels to the ground, hands sliding down Tatton's sleeves, "god." This isn't a fucking victor. He's just some fucking kid, another one, Opal's son and Emmett's brother or sister or whatever the fuck- why is he the only one panicking? His fingers are twitching and begging to grab the knife, to run with it and get the hell out of dodge- he wavers back and forth. 

Swaying, almost, quicker in pace than it took to ruin Ky Earnest's fucking day; good! Fuck him! Right? It's his fault, he wanted to get in the middle of all of this let him fucking bleed out for it. The cannon will fire and Tatton'll be the victor or whatever the fuck just god die and take the suffering with you. "Hey," he says, nearly calming, "you alright?"

"What?" Tatton furrows his brow, backing up and checking over his shoulder. 

There's no witness but an empty sky, and whatever is watching from up there knows Tatton's not in the wrong. Whatever is watching at this point must have given up a long time ago, too damn long ago -- "what do you mean!" A little more confused than the guy who just got stabbed, he tries not to tear up. To punch him in the face or yell or stab him again, there's too much to do and only so little Ky to blame anymore. 

It's on the ground and their hands and on Ky's face, all the bits of him that Tatton blamed and blames and will blame. Blood that killed Emmett, right? And broke everything? Ky reaches for him again and Tatton feels the surge of panic, of fear. The pain of just him touching his sweater, "it's alright."

"NO-" and Tatton pushes his hands off, trying to remind him who the victim is here. Who's prey, who's predator; there's a pack and Ky can't be apart of it, he had his fucking shot! "Why aren't you pissed- I JUST STABBED YOU!" He grabs Ky by the wrists and pushes him away, to the ground to the ditch to wherever, as long as he's below him. "You're a fucking freak, dude!" Disgusting, ugly, idiot, waste of space and bleeding and it's got to be Ky Earnest at this point. 

Otherwise, Tatton doesn't know who to hate anymore. 

This is the son of a god, right? There is no fighting back, just comfort- just kindness, and it makes him sick watching. Saying words that he's been hunting down for years and "you're supposed to hate me right now! Stab me back or- or fucking something," make it painful in a way Tatton can handle. Please, hurt me back, like family does. 

Even with a knife in a gut, Tatton's nothing but envious of Ky. 

elegant

[gamemaker kelsier]

k y .

"Never got the chance
To say a last goodbye
I gotta move on
But it hurts to try"

There was something wrong.

But he'd forgotten what it was.

The world moved out of focus for a moment, sliding and slipping. The dirt path he'd been running along seemed to stretch way too far into the distance almost comically. It faded into a horizon that he couldn't quite read, it was just a brightness. A hand went to his stomach, fingers feeling around the hilt of the blade that he'd been stuck with. It seemed like it was firmly in there, his movement only doing more to secure it.

Ky opened his mouth but he'd lost whatever words he had been trying to say. Every time that he thought that he was understanding the pain, it just became more. It was as if it was playing a game of cat and mouse with him; let him catch up a little and then sprint forwards.

He'd been so foolish to think he knew what pain was before this.

"what do you mean!"

The kid was shouting at him. That or he had been shouting at him and it was silent after or it was all happening together. The stony expression and closed mouth against echoes of anger between the trees.

What did he mean? Ky wasn't really sure. He was in no place to be asking if someone else was alright, not when he was like that. It had just seemed like the right thing to do, the kid's face had been screwed up with so much anger.

And those eyes.

Those eyes like how his eyes had been.

Ky smiled because he knew what a wounded animal backed into a corner looked like. His heart, that had only ever learned how to nourish and grow, his hands that had grown callused from long days of training and gardening forgave him. He was his mother's son in the end, his father's seed and their kindness flowed through Ky. His mother would ache with pain and still love him, no matter how much he hurt her.

He reached out again but was met by the kid's hands pushing back, then grabbing him and pushing him roughly. He fell back against the dirt path, head hitting the ground hard. The fall sent a jolt through his body and into the knife, then back out again. For a moment, he lost all sense of being, a brightness overtaking him as pain flowed through him, unfiltered.

"Ow," he said.

"You're a fucking freak, dude!"

A chuckle.

Ky was trying to catch his breath after the fall but it seemed unlikely. Even if he managed to get it back under control, he knew his breaths were numbered. "What, you think you're the first person to try and kill me?" he asked, "You try living like this."

That was what, twice in the span of two weeks? He hadn't learned to be less sarcastic since the last time, just a little more accepting.

With some effort, he rolled onto his side. Each movement was slow, laborious and not for the first time, Ky wondered how the fuck tributes did it in the games. How did they just get up after getting half-killed and losing half of their limbs?

Because a knife in the gut felt like more than enough.

Ky curled around the knife and gripped the hilt carefully. He wasn't sure if he was supposed to leave it in or not, but leaving it seemed good. He was scared to pull it out anyway, it was going to fucking kill.

"I'm not... fighting a kid," he said, "Especially... not a Le Roux... so get... get out of here."

The forest was disappearing around them, an inky white devouring everything in its sight. Soon there'd be nowhere to go for the poor kid and Ky didn't want to take someone down with him, not even his killer.

He snaked a hand up slowly, his father's ring on its chain in the dirt beside him. It was warm from resting against his chest and Ky curled a fist around it.

"It's really... it's alright, okay?"

And it was.